A bit of it all, Sherlock style
by a good intrigue
Summary: just got an account and wanted to test what genras i can wright. first fanfic, yay! basically, a oneshot of every genra with Sherlock characters. this was the alternative to bordom... : P Not a crossover fic, but may see hits of a certain Doctor in the future. Deffinitely AU.
1. Character

Paste your document here...

CHARACTER

Rushing, running, always moving,  
Never a dull moment, excitement all the way,  
One of perfect understanding, yet never so loving,  
The other patient, never saying nay.

Time, stress, hand in hand,  
Constantly working, gaining a name.  
One may lay claim to any land,  
The other only by the Yard knows fame.

Attentive, assisting, consistent in deed,  
Loving from a distance,  
They cater to his every need.

Money, power, security craving,  
Independent to any other.  
One a grander finale is saving,  
The other too tied up to bother.

And so we see the lives of those,  
Whose character we muse.  
Why the way they chose,  
Could cause them easy to bruise


	2. A five minute phone call

**A/N:Sorry I forgot this in the other chapter! :^S got so caught up in it all I guess! Oops! so the other one would have said omething like:' didn't want to start this particuliar peice like this. I was going to start whith what the great man should start with: crime! but I'm still figuring this out and this poem was ready so... enjoy!' But that has nothing to do with this now! here it is! CRIME uploaded! YAY! it's all working out! well anyway, better stop before my note becomes as long as the story is! Enjoy! And please, please,PLEASE observe that large, empty box down there and take pitty on it by filling it up for me? Thank you! Read on!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing BBC Sherlock, sigh. Nothing but my dreams and wishes that is!**

A FIVE MINUTE PHONE CALL

"Mr. Holmes! I was not expecting you to come! I must say I love your work, and I'm ever so pleased to meet you. I'm-"

"Yes, yes. Don't bore me with such trivial things, please! Just show me where the napping happened."

The flustered worker flushed and fluttered ahead of John and Sherlock. John chuckled. Sherlock had never given anyone the opportunity to get out such a spiel before, John rethought that statement, no, he still hadn't. That girl could just talk! He silently commended her for getting as far as she had. Coming up on four large, empty cages the young woman began again.

"They were here last night. The pair of cockatiels and three macaws. Moe, Sally, Jen-"

Sherlock waved his hand nonchalantly but John could sense his frustration when he spoke, his voice hardening and turning ever more harsher, " I don't care of their names. I need the facts!" The girl jumped and stared open mouthed at the annoyed detective, a look of shock seemed permanently engraved on her face. John was about to break the silence and urge her on when an older lady strolled pleasantly out of the back room, dropping a phone in the pocket of her snug khakis. Lestrade, who till this point had been silently observing the whole ordeal, shook her hand as she approached , introducing himself as they walked over the short distance towards the small group.

"Hello, you must be the detectives."

John stuck his hand to her before Sherlock could scathe her with a sharp remark to her false accusation. " John Watson. And this is the only consulting detective in the world, Sherlock Holmes."

John felt Sherlock stand taller, swelling in pride at his self given title. Characteristically he ignored her outstretched hand, but surprised everyone with his next comment.

"I generally try to avoid shaking hands with a thief."

"I'm sure I don't ….." The senior employee looked momentarily at war with herself. John saw Sherlock smirk at her, daring her to deny it. After a moment she decided it wasn't worth it and gave in with a sigh. " Fine. How."

Sherlock swayed happily, as he always did when things came together. "Elementary. My dear Watson," John frowned hearing his name, looking at Sherlock questioningly. He never shared his victories, so what was he doing?

'Dear Lord, please don't let him ask me to do something too embarrassing!' John silently pleaded.  
Sherlock gave John a smile, hopping it came out as encouraging and not malicious as it usually did.

"Let us show them the vantage points of that back room."

John's brows furrowed but he traced her path to the back room. He faintly heard Sherlock's baritone from his new position. " Now you can see that in that particular room, in that particular spot, one can only see you from few certain precise places in the shop." John could tell by Lestrade's moving head that his college was dodging about the other room. Demonstrating his point visually for the lost onlookers.

" But that tells me nothing, Mr. Holmes! What…. How…. Why…..?" The shrill, confused voice of the young worker stuttered out, commanding the attention of the whole room. Voicing their collective thoughts. Sherlock stilled again becoming conniving and quick with his tongue, he began, and never ceased in his banter.

"You mean, 'what in the world', ' how can you tell', 'why did she call then'? Yes, of course you do. I can see it. Dull child you are. The 'what' would be the theft of two cockatiels and three macaws, obviously. The 'how', quiet simply is: your fellow employee stayed behind last night, long after she had told you she left. You overlooked her when you did your final sweep of the animals before you clocked out early for the day, anxious to get to your date. Don't keep him, he's cheating on you." Ignoring the look of utter shock and unbelief , Sherlock continued. " After you left she snuck out, stole the birds, and dropped them with her accomplice in Hastings. She then returned to clean out the CCTV, and check for any telling marks she may have left. I would say you were very thorough, but then I would be lying. An idiot could see your mistakes, this place reeks of it. 'Escaping clean', you undoubtedly thought. Oh well! Oh yes, and the 'why', simply because she needed more money then this job could ever give her to sustain the drinking habits of her own boyfriend. And she called to inject herself into the investigation, because no one expects the culprit to call their own crime in , well no one except me."

With that Sherlock stopped his rant, his eyes dimmed some from the sharp intensity that they always adopted when he went on his deducing rampages. He looked around as though seeing the gathering onlookers for the first time. Taking a breath, he turned to face the huffing woman as Lestrade moved to take her under custody.

'Did I miss anything?"

The only response afforded him was a deep scowl and a turned up nose as the red face of the conformed thief disappeared into the back of the waiting police cruiser.

"Just for clarification, Sherlock, exactly what was it that tipped you off to all of this? What set you off?" Lestrade inquired hesitantly, shutting the door roughly behind her.

" A five minute phone call."


	3. Just another normal day on Baker Street

A/N:** Hello again! Wow, I am soooooo adicted to this! And even typing is getting there! well, here it is! third chapter already! here it is- Adventure! yay! Not sure how I feel towards it yet. Think it's ok, but not sure. hum, guess you'll just have to help me there...perhaps... by mabye dropping a little something...down there...in that big, empty box...? Enjoy! Happy reading!**

**Disclaimer: once agin, I still have no control over Sherlock or BBC. Just as I have no control over what I will do if they leave us hanging another year! Seriously! Aaaaaaaa!**

JUST ANOTHER ORDINARRY DAY ON BAKER STREET

"Come along, John! We have a criminal to catch!" and just like that they were off again.

"Sherlock. We've been in the flat all day. Who and what are you talking about?" John was jerked to his feet roughly and shoved towards the door.

"Cat burglar, John. Do keep up." Sherlock wrestled John into his coat. He grabbed his own over his arm and rushed John and himself out the door.

"Taxi?" John raised his hand to hail one. Sherlock grasped his arm, nearly ripping it out of its socket as he bolted down the street, dragging John behind him.

"I take that as a 'no'." John muttered, pulling his arm away and pumping them furiously as he sprinted to keep up with the crazed detective.

Pouring on as much speed as his body could afford, John ran along side his friend, tearing through the streets of London blindly, madly, racing for the destination only the brilliant sociopath beside him knew of.  
Skidding around the corner, a familiar sight greeted him.

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade was just jumping from his car, half a dozen police cruisers pulling up behind him, all flashing lights and wailing sirens.

"Sherlock, what in all of London is going on?" Lestrade turned in exasperation, towards the sound of pounding feet quickly approaching him. He only had a moment to prepare himself for the outburst that was already on it's way, before it was there, hitting him in the face.

"Lestrade, move! Apartment 34! He has, no doubt, heard the pompous wails you useless associates insist on leaving on in those obnoxious vehicles of yours, and could be half way across London by now!"

John sighed, shaking his head slightly as he pushed past Sherlock to join a small force gathering to enter the building.  
"What?", the taken aback note in Sherlock's voice was lost on John as he pushed ahead to Apt. 34, leading on the lost yarders. The rest of the arrest went just as it always did. The unsuspecting criminal bolting towards the nearby window and fire escape, where he was immediately by a suspecting John, who had learned to expect this. Sherlock was right. Criminals really could be the biggest idiots.

Once he had led the baffled man out of the dingy building, Sherlock smirking proudly, though John couldn't tall at whom, and into the back of the waiting car; John returned to apartment 34 to yet another too familiar sight. He stood against the frame of the door, letting people in and out, taking a moment to chuckle at the sight. Sherlock spun in the cramped and dingy quarters, pointing at the various 'obvious' signs of the theft and rambling out deductions a mile a minute to the astounded, frazzled, and innocent onlookers alike.

A young medic scuttled over towards the door and John, standing just inside the doorway hesitantly. He looked dejected and awed all at once.

'New' John could tell that without even needing to be introduced.

"Bad day? " came the amazed voice quietly. John had to chuckle again when Sherlock got hyped up about how idiotic they were being, raising his voice, and the young man beside him flinched.

John shrugged nonchalantly, "Naw, this is normal."

The man looked at him as if he had grew a third eye, and scoffed, "Don't tell me this is normal!"

John gave him a half smile and a little chuckle shook him at just the thought of Sherlock being any less then the manic man he was.

"If he weren't, it would be the end of the world."

The man looked at him with wide, unbelieving eyes when he realized he was being serious. It lasted only a moment before an exceptionally loud outburst from Sherlock sent the medic shrinking out the door.

John shook his head with a smile.

Being dragged out of a nice warm flat completely out of the blue, chancing a criminal he couldn't even see through the streets of the largest city in England, apprehending a criminal whose crime hadn't even been reported yet based on a hunch Sherlock had seen as the poor bloke walked past the wrong flat at the wrong time, terrifying a new medic on their very first meeting without him even talking to the man himself, and leaving still completely lost and in awe.

'Yep' John thought ironically ' Just a normal day on Baker Street'


	4. Give me something good

A/N: **wow, that was a labour of love! Oh my word do I need to work on my typing! this took WAY too long to get up. well, anyway, 4th! Hope you enjoy my take on a midevil Sherlock! I did do some research on the different classes and servants/ masters and what not. that said, I don't think I got it all quiet right. But that's fantacy right?! make it all up! ;^p Enjoy yal!**

**Disclaimer: not mine, no profit except mabye some words writen in a lovely empty box found at the bottom of this page...**

GIVE ME SOMETHING GOOD

"Oh John, I'm so bored."

As soon as the words were uttered, John immediately jumped up from his crouched position by the family dog. Rushing about, he quickly removed every sharp object from the luxurious room; which, thankfully, was not too much to collect. His lord had a nasty habit of practicing his aim with whatever he could get his hands on in times like this. When he became bored. The wall usually took the brunt of it, displeasing Lady Holmes immensely.

His charge slouched down in the plush, high backed chair, his knees bouncing wildly like a racing horse that had been caged up. Sharp, blue green eyes scoured the large room lingering a bit too long on a nearby candlestick. John watched his warily. A dangerous gleam lit those crystal eyes, in that instant John was up and racing to be the first to grab the slender piece of furniture.

"Molly!" steeping outside the door with the retrieved object, John shouted for his friend and fellow laborer in the Holmes household.

"Master in one of his moods again?" a perky voice chirped behind him.  
John handed the slight brunet the object in question quickly, smiling at her sweet spirit to the difficult youth.

"John! Where have you gone?!"

The named man sighed, looking back into the dank room. "That's my que! Go save his brilliant mind from boredom again!" he replied to Molly jovially. The young maid smiled understandingly and walked off with the candlestick and the other discarded items pilled precariously in her arms.

"Yes, milord? Sorry to have taken so long."

Sherlock huffed, pulling his knees up to his chest, his long limbs tucking into him, making him look like a tight bomb of energy ready to explode at any given moment. He continued his death glare on his companion.

John sighed inside, wondering once again how he had ended up with the daunting task that was keeping an eye on his master.  
Being a yeomen to the Holmes' family had been amazing at first; going to wars under that proud name. Only when he had returned wounded from one such war had things changed. And quiet drastically at that! Sherlock had seemingly taken a fancy to him sometime before, being the only member of the staff that he did not perpetually torment and rebuff on a regular basis. Certainly he was the first that the lad had not tired of immediately.

Sherlock got bored quickly and his lot in life seemed to be mucking up trouble everywhere he went. With his brother being gone so often, making his own name and gaining his title in government and society, Lord Holmes sought for someone to become Sherlock's companion; or ,at least, someone to keep him out of trouble. John seemed to be just the one to fulfill the requirements. So, like that, he had gone from a Captain in the small army that the Holmes kept at all times, to attending to the youngest ,and certainly the most difficult, member of the prominent family.

John was fine with all that had taken place. He got to remain in his master's house when most in his condition would have been discharged after sustaining such a wound and then forced to leave the respected household. He kept his position, though in a different capacity, and, though most would vehemently disagree, he found Sherlock to be an amiable master. Though rough and sharp, he gave him the never ending thrill and excitement he lived for. Yes, John was happy, though now was one of those times he couldn't recall why.

"Is there nothing you would like to do, Sir?" John began, trying not to sound to anxious and excited at the prospect of delving into another potentially dangerous caper with his adventurous muse. He knew it was a helpless cause, his charge picked up on everything, sometimes even before the thought even occurred.

"Oh, please, John. There's nobody around, would you please drop the 'sir' and rubbish titles?" his deep voice sight out the command before he jumped to his feet again beginning his pacing across the cold stone floor.

"I want that dimwitted sheriff to get his lazy rump over here with some bounty requisition. I want Mrs. Hudson to begin her pointless banter about our pathetic excuse of a prince so I can have a reason to go out target practicing."

"Sherlock!" John cut in, his eyes going large and round.

"Oh, come on, John. He's no good, and you know it. Besides, who wants a King named JIM? Oh, King Jim." Sherlock mocked, bowing to an invisible Jim Moriarty.

"If your nanny heard you talking so she'd say it tisn't decent. And it's James." John remarked resigned.

"She isn't my nanny anymore, she's the cook. I know it's James! Why then is he ' Prince Jim' now? If he's only to change it later once everyone sees him in a crown? It has no logic!"

John sighed again, bringing a hand to rub his forehead. Always logic.

"Sherlock-" he was going to continue on how Sherlock was one of only a few people who were aloud to call Prince James Jim, when he was cut off as sounds of approaching hoofs drifted into the hearth lit room.

Sherlock stilled," Four horses, wheels; carriage." he groaned and fell back into the overstuffed chair,

"Mycroft"

Moments later, Sir Mycroft Holmes strode gracefully into the room with all the airs of high class society. John stood resolute at attention to show his respect and his place as yeomen to the powerful man.

"Hello dear brother. How have things been here for you today?" he inquired pleasantly if somewhat stiffly passing his brother to retrieve a rather large book from one of the towering bookshelves nearby.

"Oh, complete rubbish is usual. And you, your grace?" there was an unmistakable bitter edge to Sherlock's deep voice and John wondered at his tenacity. Mycroft was a leading authoritative figure gaining national recognition, gaining rapidly on that of Prince James himself. But to Sherlock, Mycroft was Mycroft. His pompous airs and political talk did nothing to impress him. In fact they seemed to just put him off more.

Mycroft drew in a tight smile, heading toward the large, rich mahogany desk occupying the far side of the room. "It went well."

John cleared out his throat a little before turning to address Sherlock, carefully keeping his eyes on the more prominent figure of the man moving around the desk,

"Sir, perhaps we should vacate this study and retire to another one?" he need not to mention the fact that this was Mycroft's study , he was positive that Sherlock knew that very well. That was more then likely the reason he had gone to this particular study in the first place.

"I think not, John. I prefer this seat to the ones in the other studies. I'm sure His Highness will not mind." he spoke in confident tones and let a rebellious expression crossed his face. John was thankful for the fact that the high back of the chair hid Sherlock's face from view of his austere brother. That look would have undoubtedly had both of them forcibly removed from the room.

"John," Mycroft began to address the uneasy man, with a slight note of order in his smooth voice.  
"would you-"

"HUSH!" Sherlock shot up strait in his chair, his hands thrown out to silence his brother. To John's amazement, Mycroft simply blinked patently and looked down at the book he had pulled off the shelf, thumbing through the pages. The silence thus afforded allowed the loud thunder of hooves to cut their way into the room, slicing the tension John felt slightly.

Horses, three- urgent. Riders, well trained- royal, militia. Weight, light, normal- not delivery.  
Urgent message or request from the King. Short stay.

A genuine grin spread Sherlock's face and a look of excitement lit his eyes, making them clearer and sharper. Noticing the change in his companion, John had a fairly good guess as to who the mysterious riders were.

Footsteps echoed on the stone floor of the hallway hurriedly. Mycroft looked up from his current page expectantly, sitting slightly taller then he had been. John stepped to his proper place slightly behind Sherlock. Close enough to do his bidding and protect him from any unexpected harm, but retired enough to show his respect for his master's privacy and position above him. Sherlock simply crossed his legs in the plush seat, sitting back farther into it with a knowing smile.

"Sheriff Gregory Lestrade of London, his assistant Sergeant Anderson, and Sally Donavan." they were announced and immediately Sherlock was out of his seat with a look of disgust on his face.

"Not you, Anderson! Please leave this study immediately, you are not welcome, I feel bogged by your dullness already. And Donovan, I don't care that you get to be all special because you're the King's favorite little sneaky hand maid. Would you please leave me to relative sanity."

Looking ruffled and appalled they reluctantly retired the study.

"Sir Holmes," Lestrade bowed slightly to Mycroft and turned to do the same to Sherlock when he cut him off sharply.

" Oh, cut it. I'm bored. Give me something good."


	5. his hero

**Disclamer: I still own nothing. If I did there would be a new season every year, and Donovan would be fired. Smiles all around! :D**

**A/N: warning! This is TRAGEDY! There will be sadness, and darkness, and rain. Mabye a few tears if it's writen well enough. Don't kill me for what I did! When I thought tragedy this is what fit the bill for me. Biggest tragedy EVER! But hope you enjoy? :} Comments appreciated!**

HIS HERO

"SHERLOCK!"

The scream tore through the silence of the midnight tranquility. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. And amongst the turmoil of thoughts storming his ever hyperactive mind, one stood out and shouted for release.

'John stay with me.'

"Sherlock. NO Sherlock, wait!"

John shouted at the back of his college as Sherlock charged from the cab.  
The sound of John huffing behind him barley registered in the torrent of observations his senses captured.

"Mind telling me exactly what we are doing here?"

"Sniper, John. Come on!"

Sherlock's clipped tones had only a millisecond to register before Sherlock took off once again. Charging headlong into the dilapidated old where house on the outskirts of London. Stopping just short inside the entry way, Sherlock snapped around. His calculating eyes seeking out every shadow and crevice for his allusive target.

"What on earth? Sherlock? Sniper?! And you never bothered to tell me this?!"

John's voice, although going high with anger and annoyance remained in the still building. Sherlock began moving to the crumbling stairway as he replied smoothly with very little hint of any emotion in his deep voice.

"Sebastian Moran, John. A very skilled and cunning sniper. Former military soldier now posing as Moriarty's right hand man."

He paused a moment in his scrutiny of the stairs to turn and glance over the lower floor once more adding,

"And even if I had told you, what difference would it have made? You still would have come."

John's anger flared at his companion's cocky assurance. His jaws clenched tightly together as he fought to keep his temper from showing itself. Yes, he would have come, he would always come, but it was still not right for Sherlock to assume he would always have his back. He wasn't his body guard.

Sherlock continued up confidently, as if he knew no crack would dare give his presence away. For which he was probably right. John followed dutifully, meticulously placing his foot exactly where the first man had placed his, not too certain the cracks would be so kind to him.  
Sherlock scanned the next level in a fraction of a second. He moved forward, strait across the dusty floor. John trekked hesitantly behind him, constantly scanning for any signs of danger.

"Nothing!"

The way the words were uttered under the consulting detective's breath made it sound as if he was cursing the building itself for not leading him to his quarry.

A creek, a groan, and John tensed, feeling every sound with his whole being, even sense trying to pinpoint the origin of the unsettling noise that tore through the quiet night like thunder. A low rumble began and the floor began to shake.

"Sherlock!"

The sound of John's yell brought Sherlock out of his head. "Oooof!"

John harshly shoved the still dazed man to the floor meters away from where he stood meditating just as the old cement floor had finally given way and crashed to the ground level.

Sherlock stood and brushed himself off as if it was normal to be saved moments from death.

"Thank you, John." he said in his usual arrogant way, and practically strutted a path around the gaping hole towards the staircase, dismissing the entire thing without even a raised eyebrow or a look of gratitude towards the man who had saved his life yet again.

John huffed, shaking his head. Maybe I really am his body guard.

"Gone! Absolutely nothing to show. No trace!"

John fallowed a few paces behind the irritated and extremely vexed consulting detective as he stormed out of the where house and towards the street and waiting cab.

"Nothing. No clue. Absolutely-"

A glint twinkle in the dark night, a shadow etched in the roof,

"SHERLOCK!"

And Sherlock was shoved to the ground again as the sharp sound of a bullet ripping through the air was fallowed but the inevitable thud of it hitting its mark.

John fell to the gravel a meter from the startled detective. Sherlock searched the roof for the marksman but there was none to be found. A groan sounded to his right and Sherlock shuffled to John's side, pulling his head to rest on his narrow lap as he looked the bleeding man over for the entry wound.

John gasped in pain and his face crumbled when the man's hand found its destination. Cautiously and as gently as he could ever manage, Sherlock moved aside the rapidly dampening blazer to discover the wound he was searching for. John's jaw clenched tightly and he hissed in pain when his blood soaked blazer was pulled aside and the cold night air seared his torn flesh. Blood flowed from the deep hole in his abdomen and Sherlock gasped, his eyes widening. He had never seen so much blood escape so quickly.  
He went to pull aside the John's shirt when the doctor pulled his hand away.

"You…pulling my shirt off….with only the moon to shed some light on us…people will talk."

The words were ground out between strangled gasps of air. Instantly Sherlock wanted to reprimand the man for his attempt at humor at a time like this, but instead he just smiled a small smile down at his only friend and companion.

John's smile only lasted a moment before a look of pure agony again crowded his features and his grip on Sherlock's hand tightened.

'The cabbie'

Sherlock's mind screamed as it raced for ways to save John.

"Call an ambulance!" he shouted with all he had around the growing panic and lump forming in his throat to the wide eyed man behind the wheel.

"No time." John gasped out.

Sherlock's gaze snapped back to the only friend he had ever had. John's eyes began to go glassy and yet he came back with a weak chuckle that made the dark haired man cringe.

"Guess I am your body guard after all."

Sherlock half sobbed, half laughed with his wounded companion. His breathing hitched and every thought in his mind united and screamed ' Save him'.

Sherlock raised a slender hand to support John's head as he tried to drag the now only semi-conscious man higher on his lap in an attempt to slow the bleeding. John gasped and groaned, his eyes closed and his hand began to shake in Sherlock's, locking it in a strong vice as pain wracked his body.

'Stop' Sherlock's mind yelled at him,' You're hurting him!'

Sherlock ceased his efforts and his head sunk to his chest in helplessness. His whole being ached with every gasp of air his friend grasped for. John laughed breathlessly.

"Always dreamed of dying in combat as a boy. Thought it made you a hero." , his breathing slowed and became shallow, "Too late now though, I'm afraid. Heroes don't exist."

Tears pooled in Sherlock's eyes and began to trail down his pale features, he clutched John's hand even tighter, letting his emotions rule over his logical and factual 'black or white' mind. For the first time there was actually a shade of gray. An outcome he knew but would not accept. A hope when there was no hope.  
He was feeling.

For once since John had met the manic man, Sherlock actually looked and acted human and John thought it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen happen before him. The normally so staunch and strait forward man was now breaking. Human was showing through. John had proof now against the Donovans and Andersons in the world. Sherlock did have feelings and emotions. He really was capable of caring.

The inevitable began, blood began to dribble from John's mouth and Sherlock knew he had little time with his friend left.

"No, John. I was wrong. Heroes do exist; and you are mine."

A final surge of pain wracked his body. John smiled up at Sherlock one last time before finally closing his eyes in peace and his body going limp in his friend's arms.

Sherlock gritted his teeth. Caring is not an advantage. But now it was too late. He had cared, and now he felt the painthat came with it. Anger splashed red in front of his eyes. Sebastian Moran. The man who had killed the one person who had made him care. He had been just a name and a reputation, but now Sherlock knew facts. He had seen him in action, all too intimately. Now he knew what to expect, what to look for, he was on the prowl more intently then he had ever been before. He would make his hero proud if it was the last thing he did. He would finish Moriarty off and he would find Sebastian Moran.

**A/N: I hope this did not come across as a johnlock fic. It is simply their strong, amazing frienship. :) **

**And I was thinking, if any of these oneshots desserve to be developed into a full story please tell me! It's hard to decide if it's good enough. Please! :**


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